“But Germany was beaten.”
“Right, but there were still pockets of die-hard Nazis and German high command officers spread all over the world. The last thing the Allies wanted to do was give them back code operators who could help the Nazis develop another communications network.”
“Which goes to show an appreciation of history can be very helpful in day-to-day living.”
“I’ve always thought so. Okay, let’s do it.”
CHAPTER 80
THE BOEING 767 had the strengthened engines and other enhanced capabilities required for long hauls over the ocean. The wide-body jet banked left and reached the continental United States, passing over Norfolk, Virginia, and continuing the descent to its final destination. The 767 didn’t belong to any domestic or foreign commercial airline. It was not owned by any business or individual, nor was it operated by the United States military. Normally a jet without one of those ties, when passing into
U.S. airspace above one of the most important military installations America possessed, would have prompted the scrambling of fighter jets from Norfolk and an uncomfortable intercept in the air. However, no sirens sounded and no Navy pilots raced for their planes because the jet had clearance from the highest command levels to fly to any point in the United States it wished. The 767 continued on, just as it had every Saturday at this time for at least the last two years. In less than thirty minutes the pilots would engage the landing gears after setting the wing flaps for the final descent onto a runway fully paid for by the American taxpayer, a long strip of concrete virtually no U.S. citizen would ever be allowed to set foot on.
Sean and Michelle reached the end of the tunnel and listened for any sound on the other side of the wall they were looking at barely six inches above their heads. They had just passed under some of the most intricate security defenses America had to offer. If they’d been above ground, the security detail would have already killed or captured them.
Placing their hands against the ceiling, they applied steady pressure, their bodies tensed to run if any noise signaled the presence of others. The silence remained, the ceiling was shifted aside and they clambered up into a room, and shone their lights around. The walls here were brick, the air damp and foul-smelling.
“It’s like we stepped back in time,” Michelle said in a hushed voice as she gazed around at ancient brick, rotting timbers and a partially dirt floor.
“Welcome to Porto Bello,” Sean said. “The Navy must’ve used this place to hold Fuchs and the other POWs. And the Germans managed to dig a tunnel out right under the Navy’s nose.”
In one corner some of the brick had come off the foundation wall and lay in a pile.
“Not very reassuring,” Michelle said, staring at the fallen brick. “This whole place might tumble down on our heads any second.”
Sean picked up one of the bricks. “It’s been standing for over two hundred years. It should be good for another hour.”
Sean shone his light on the floor. The dirt had been disturbed. “Monk Turing, at least I hope so,” he said.
“So where’s the gold?” Michelle asked.
“We haven’t searched the place yet,” Sean reminded her.
“I’m more interested in finding Viggie than a treasure.”
He checked his watch. “We have to hurry. The plane will be landing soon.”
After poking around the cellar they made their way upstairs. The main floor was vacant of even a stick of furniture. And yet here and there they saw touches of faded elegance in the woodwork, the fireplace surround, ornately carved mantel and the crest of the British crown crafted into the wall over the front door. The centuries had diminished the impact of it all. Yet it still made them look around in a certain wonder as their feet trod boards that had been in place when Washington, Jefferson and Adams were fighting for American independence.
Clearly the dilapidated place was not being used by the CIA. As soon as they peered out one of the front cracked leaded windows they saw why. There wasn’t much here. The only thing nearby was a small tributary.
Sean pointed to it. “The inlet from the York,” he said. Heinrich Fuchs and his fellow prisoners had obviously followed the inlet’s contours when digging their tunnel, figuring, rightly as it turned out, that it would lead the way to the York and freedom.
For Sean and Michelle’s plan the inlet was also critical because it ran close to the end of the runway.
They searched the house to make sure Viggie wasn’t there. They didn’t find any treasure either. After that they slipped out of the old lodge and headed toward the water. Michelle looked back at the dark house. It sat on a smooth patch of land with two massive trees out front. It had a flat roof with shingles covering the top third of the structure where a row of peaked windows was situated. A single chimney stack rose from near the center of the lodge. The house was all brick save for a small wooden front porch that was leaning at a precarious angle.
She said, “I saw this place from the air when I was with Champ.”
Sean nooded. “I’m sure that’s why Monk flew with Champ. He wanted to see if Porto Bello was occupied and what else was around it.”
A minute later they had slipped into the inlet and were heading east, neatly reversing the path they’d taken in the tunnel. So far they hadn’t seen any sign of another human being. Yet each knew this could change instantly, and the next human they did see would very likely carry a gun along with a strong desire to kill them.
CHAPTER 81
THE JET, LIGHTS OUT, swooped past the tree line on the outskirts of Babbage Town, passed over the York, cleared the security fence and kissed the reinforced surface of the ten-thousand-foot-long runway. It came to a complete stop well short of that length as its reverse thrusters and wheel brakes did their job.
The plane taxied to the end of the runway and the pilots turned the plane around in the wide stretch of concrete. A bus, Hummer and cargo truck were already waiting there. The engines were killed and the plane’s aft door opened, portable stairs were brought up and people started walking off. The cargo door at the rear of the plane was opened and the truck backed up to it.
Sean and Michelle crawled forward on their bellies right up to a chain link fence surrounding the runway area. Their NV goggles easily picked up all the activity. Sean was also recording it using a special surveillance video camera that would deliver startling crisp footage regardless of the absence of light Michelle flinched when the first man dressed in a business suit and wearing a traditional Arab kaffiya on his head emerged from the plane. He was followed by a dozen more, all wearing similar garb.
Michelle pointed toward the back of the plane. Sean started as he saw the cargo being taken off. Along with luggage were piles of black plastic bales.
He looked at Michelle in alarm and whispered, “Oh shit. Is that what I think it is?”
As they continued to watch, a Range Rover pulled up next to the small passenger bus and a person got out.
As soon as Sean saw who it was, he froze.
Valerie Messaline was dressed in a beige pantsuit. She walked up to the Arabs and started speaking to them. Sean could make out around her neck what looked to be a white security badge. She was CIA. And a world-class actress; she’d made him believe every word of her sad story.
Michelle saw how stunned he was and said softly, “Valerie?”
He nodded dumbly.
Valerie continued to speak with the same Arab for a few minutes while the other men were led onto the bus with their luggage. Occasionally Valerie and the Arab would glance at the cargo being unloaded from the rear of the plane. Once Valerie strolled over with the Arab to one of the bales, touched it and laughed at something the man said.
A minute later Valerie climbed back in the Range Rover with the Arab and they followed the passenger bus out,
